


A Donkey named Companion

by Zeitvergessen (Wortspiel)



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Celebrations, Christmas Eve, Christmas Presents, F/M, Feels, Flynn gets some nice sleep for once, Friendship, Memories, set some time after saving Rufus without any unnessecary selfsacrifices, very (un)creative title
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27784018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wortspiel/pseuds/Zeitvergessen
Summary: Flynn is persuaded to take part in the Time Team's Christmas celebrations. Lucy is troubled by her choice of presents.
Relationships: Garcia Flynn & Lucy Preston, Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston
Comments: 10
Kudos: 37





	A Donkey named Companion

**Author's Note:**

> It’s almost December and despite my general lack of Christmas spirit this year I wanna post something.  
> Am I allowed to post unnecessarily  
> emotional Christmas fanfics, yet?  
> Because I had this dream that somehow (partly) made sense and, inspired by it, I began writing. So, this happened. And it might be complete  
> nonsense because I typed parts of it half asleep but have it anyways. :’D
> 
> Edit: I read it again, corrected quite a few errors that my tired brain seemingly just ignored on the first read through. There still might be some. Hope I got most of them, though. :)

Christmas. Flynn has a hard time watching Rufus stretch to hang garlands around the room under Jiya's watchful eyes, which the two found in a dusty box in some storage room. He is torn between whether he should get up and help before the poor man pulls a muscle or just retreat to his room to stick his nose into some book and forget about the world around him.

In the end, he cannot choose either of the two options, because a loud clang in the kitchen demands his attention. Lucy, of all people, has made it her business to bake cookies for the team. He can already imagine what awaits him before he turns on the sofa to catch a glimpse of the chaos that she has just caused.

Forgetting his doubts and worries, he soon deals with first sweeping and then wiping away the remnants of flour, which has spread over the shabby kitchen furnishings in a powdery cloud. Lucy, who cleans a raw egg off the floor with a sheepish look, offers him an apologetic smile.

“Baking was never a particularly high priority in my family,” she tells him casually. “I thought it might be a good time to practice now. Not that we have much else to do here."

She's right, thinks Flynn, and lets himself be persuaded to help her mix and knead the dough. Placid activity is good, he says to himself, keeps the mind occupied and away from certain vicious cycles. But as soon as Lucy starts to cut small stars and fir trees from the rolled-out patch of dough with a knife (there are no cookie cutters) he withdraws. The peaceful sight awakens memories that he does not want to bring to the surface. Certaintly not here in front of everyone.

In the evening, Christmas music reaches his ears. Flynn's nose is buried deep in one of the books he found around the bunker as he listens to the familiar melodies. Nothing all too modern, nothing too intrusive. He guesses that Mason dug up some old records to join the general pre-Christmas mood.

Again he realizes that these wondrous people somehow managed to turn this shabby military bunker into a safe haven. Into a home. And he doesn't like the strangely queasy feeling that this knowledge gives him. He feels out of place. Like an forgotten ugly Halloween pumpkin under a pretty Christmas tree, to stay on topic.

Ignoring the festivities has not been particularly difficult for him in recent years. In addition to planning the theft of a time machine, kidnappings and other evils, there was hardly any time to deal with the current decorating trends for conifers. Or anything else that goes along with the holidays. Also there are memories. Because as beautiful and valuable as they are, they are also linked to the guilt and pain of that one cursed night in 2014.

Good memories as bad ones, if he concentrates, he can can recall so many pictures, smells, voices.

_“Daddy, look, my boots are ready! I scrubbed them really, reeeally clean!”_

How much she loved the 6th of December. European roots do sometimes have their benefits. Like extra sweets. 

He revels in the fleeting memory, then banishes the picture, closes the book on his finger and sighs. Perhaps it is better if he doesn't show up too often outside for the next two or three days. He can understand why the team needs a little distraction from all the terror. He does not begrudge them this little light in all the dark surrounding. None of them need or want his shell of sarcasm and spite that has become so natural to him as if it was a second skin.

*

He's not sure what to expect. Certainly not a polite invitation to join the rest of those present on Christmas Eve. Jiya is the one who has taken heart. As soon as he has left his room to steal a bowl of cornflakes from the kitchen, she sticks to his heels. Secretly, he wonders whether it is gratitude for the rescue of her friend that leads her to invite him or simply pity for the miserable appearance that he is presumably giving off. He doesn't sleep much.

“Just let us know if you want to join us tonight, alright? We’ll cook together and afterwards we'll exchange a few presents and just, well, enjoy ourselves a little. I think we earned that. We'll just kinda compress Christmas into one nice evening. If they let us, that is."

He arches a brow. Regardless of her motives, he politely refuses, justifying himself to do a little more journal research. As if he had any reason to justify himself. On the way back to his room, breakfast in one hand, he shakes his head at his own weird behavior. Right now he's all messed up and it bothers him more than he's willing to acknowledge.

The next time Flynn leaves the quiet of his room it is to take a (hopefully) warm shower. To his surprise, whether he is not yet able to interpret positively or negatively, Jiya's invitation is not the only one directed at him. Rufus, who has just quite audibly complained that Wyatt has hogged the bathroom again, leans against the door frame and waits. Flynn, ready to head back to his room - he lacks the nerve for an argument with Wyatt at the moment - pauses when the other approaches him.

"Hey man, Jiya just said you're copping out on joining us tonight. You sure about that? Lucy's cookies don't taste as burnt as they look and Mason promised to bring out his best wine."

Flynn hesitates and finally nods wordlessly. Rufus understands. His invitation will be considered. That done, Flynn disappears back to his room without having achieved anything he came for. He'll try again some time later.

In the late afternoon there is a knock.

Agent Christopher is at the door when Flynn opens and he is rather startled at her unexpected appearance. He instinctively reckons that something is wrong and adrenaline gives his heart a push he didn't ask for. Why else should she-

"We need help with the star."

He blinks, visibly puzzled, already half on the go to fix whatever calamity has now befallen them. Finally his gaze falls on the previously unregarded object in her hands. A gold-plated star. A Christmas tree top. Before he can prevent it, a relieved laugh escapes him.

"But you've heard of ladders, haven't you?"

Denise just lifts an eyebrow and stays where she is, waiting, obviously unaffected by his snark. With a sigh he gives in.

"I‘ll help."

He follows her without further discussion. No matter how mundane it is, a test of strength with her ends in no way good for him. Apart from the fact that she is not intimidated in the least by his constant sarcasm and lack of tact, he needs her support - well, at least her acceptance of his presence and his skills in order to remain part of the team. Also, even though he wouldn't openly admit it, this ragged bunch of messed up personalities has grown dear to his heart. Even Wyatt. A little bit. Possibly. He almost rolls his eyes at his own Christmas brought about sentimentality, but the sight that presents itself to him as they reach the others effectively keeps him from it. 

Somehow Denise has managed to get a Christmas tree with decorations and fairy lights and to transport it to the bunker. In all its splendor, it stands in the middle of the otherwise barely comfortable 'living room' and shines warm light over the shabby furnishings. For a brief moment he cannot avoid being innocently amazed.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye he sees Jiya raise her hand to high-five Lucy. Obviously, the two of them went to great lengths with the decoration to impress all of their bunker co-inhabitants. He can't help smiling when Denise puts the star in his hands with obvious satisfaction.

Why, of all people, he is given the honor of taking on this last piece of decorating is still not entirely clear to him. But it feels strangely good and he doesn't have the heart to turn down this request. He is just big enough to slip the glass ornament over the upright branch without anything to step on.

He takes two steps back to admire his work, and, after careful observation from all angles, steps back in to make corrections. Soon he is finished and the star is enthroned bolt upright on the tree. Satisfied, he shoves both hands into his pockets.

Almost like home, he thinks and catches himself drifting into memories once again. Perhaps this is a good time to wish everyone a happy holiday and then retire for the night. But he doesn't get a chance to act on his impulse.

"Stay, please."

Lucy has found her place beside him and watches him with attentive eyes. It's strange, he thinks, how the tide has turned. Too long he remained in the belief that he knew so much about her that he could read her like a book. Which, strictly speaking, is not too far from reality. But she is ultimately the one who has developed the questionable ability to see behind his walls. So, what's the point of beating around the bush?

"I'm out of place here," he says, while the rest of the team is busy setting the table.

"You are not."

It is not difficult for him to withstand her searching gaze. He knows what she's looking for. For the reason that made him withdraw from the celebration in the first place. It is obvious that he doesn't really feel part of the team. Never did, probably never will. He did not go to great lengths to hide this fact. But Lucy knows there's more to it than that. And she finds what she is looking for.

It dawns on her, he can see it. But what she does exceeds all of his expectations. She doesn't urge him to stay. Neither does she address it. She just offers her open hand, holds it out to him and waits.

And it is this gesture that persuades him not to retreat into the safety of his bunker room. With a faint smile on his lips and hope in his heart, he takes his chance. And Lucy's hand.

„Quite the team, hm?“ Says Lucy.

He doesn't have the slightest inkling that she has even more in store.

*

Dinner consists of fine wine and unusually luxurious dishes. Even after everyone has finished, the motley group sits together at the tables for a long while. Only Denise bids her goodbye as soon as dessert is eaten. As much as she seems to enjoy the carefree time with her little bunker family, her wife and children are waiting for her at home. Flynn knows well enough that she cannot stay here for much longer.

But as she leaves the celebration is far from over in the bunker. Wyatt and Lucy each pull with a little too much enthusiasm on one of the colorful Christmas crackers that Mason conjured up from somewhere. Half-drunk as he is, but in an extraordinarily good mood, he has already asserted several times that the little tradition reminds him of home. Of course, nobody can say no to that.  
  
With a loud 'plop' and Lucy almost falling off her chair, confetti rains over the table and Wyatt pulls a bright pink crown of paper out of his half. With a shrug and a big grin, he places it crookedly on his head and leans back majestically in his chair. Rufus envies his prize. Even Flynn can't deny that the color suits him unexpectedly well.

One after the other, cracker pops after cracker and each team member is decorated with a colorful crown. Mason and Jiya pull out blue head decorations, while Lucy finds a bright red one. Flynn's own is as green as the Christmas tree and he witnesses the joy in Lucy's eyes as he adorns his own head with it.  
  
On the whole, it can be said that this Christmas has very little to do with its religious origins. Not just because the medley of cultures and interests in the bunker resembles a colorful fruit salad, but especially because the focus lies on 'being together'. A day to celebrate that this strange, battered but all the more fabulous group holds together despite all their grievances. They celebrate friendship, solidarity, the hope for better days and also to, someday, maybe, find what has been lost along the way. A nice party, thinks Flynn, because, while on the surface it is completely different from the Christmas he remembers from the catholic household he grew up in, after all they celebrate for all the right reasons.

Before he has a chance to make any further comparisons, Rufus announces that it is time for presents. The glitter in his eyes quickly reveals that he has wrapped something very special for his girlfriend. Impatience is written all over his face.

Flynn has to smile. It is nice to see how the simple joy of giving out presents banishes the horror that might lurk just around the next corner. If just for a moment.   
Even though he doesn't really know when and where the team could find the time and leisure to organize gifts. He didn't even think about it himself.

No. That's a lie. He's thought about it and has come to the conclusion that gifts of his own might not be welcome, considering their foregone clashes. Nevertheless, he was considering getting something for Lucy. He even racked his brains over it. But in the end, any form of material good seemed so vain in the midst of the war they wage through space and time.

Nonetheless, on his last trip into the past, he was unable to walk past the shop window, in which a beautifully decorated medallion was displayed on a thin golden necklace. He knows she saved the precious photos of her sister before giving up hers for the benefit of others.  
  
It's now in his room, well hidden among the sweaters in his closet. Perhaps he can bring himself to hand it to her later. With no curious stares to witness this obvious act of affection.

Leaning back on the sofa, safe distance from the action, he watches as one wrapping paper after another is torn and finds its way to the floor. The paper itself is nothing special. Casual brownish stuff. But the content creates enthusiasm. Jiya is absolutely amazed by her Rubik's Cube. Original in the official packaging and in perfect condition. Which is not that surprising, because it is fresh from production over 40 years ago. Still.  
Lucy is enjoying a couple of new old books. Reading material that, for a change, does not revolve around the changes of well-known historical events caused by Rittenhouse. Rufus unpacks Han Solo's lucky dice and immediately decides that they will be hung up and do their job in the Lifeboat from now on. He's convinced a little more luck will do them some good on upcoming trips.   
Amused that the nerdy couple can develop such immense pleasure over dice of any kind and size, Wyatt pulls out a collection of James Bond movies. Including "Weapon of Choice", which elicits mixed emotions in Flynn. For once he doesn't dare comment on the banter it evokes.  
Meanwhile, Mason delightedly thanks Rufus for the rare records he has somehow acquired. Last but not least, Lucy distributes the colorful scarves, result of permanent stress knitting, in Denise's name. Thankful, if a little amused, the recipients examine the patterned knitting.  
  
There is also one for Flynn. In deep red with beige details. That he is involved in this way is unexpected. But with the masses of scarves that were produced, Flynn can imagine that even the postman responsible for the Christopher’s is now wrapped up warm and cozy. What he didn't expect, however, is the package that Lucy now pulls out from behind her back.

"Merry Christmas, Flynn," she says, laying the neatly wrapped package into his lap. His puzzled look is probably the reason for the smile she offers him. "Better open it later," she advises. "It is ... a bit personal."  
As if the whole thing wasn't mysterious enough for him. Thoroughly surprised he thanks her and, for the moment, doesn’t care about the curious glances.

*

It is late at night as the festivities slowly draw to a close. Nobody is really ready to say goodbye to the peaceful evening, because, on the following morning, the gray everyday life and, in the worst case, another leap into the dangerous past await. Tiredness and, for some, the need for a little time of private togetherness, eventually gain the upper hand and after everyone has cleared up the remains of the day spent together, the residents of the bunker say their ‘good nights’ and ‘sleep wells’ and retire, one by one, into the silent night. Despite initial reluctance, Flynn is the last to find his way back to his room.

Now he is sitting cross-legged on his bed in front of the mysterious package and wonders what in the world Lucy has gotten him to advise him to unwrap it in the privacy of his quarters. Not by any stretch of the imagination, he can figure what might be inside. Let alone where she could have gotten it from.

Deep in thought he loosens the ribbon and picks the sticky tape off the package. Almost reverently he folds the mostly undamaged paper and puts it to the side. A quirk that cost his mother and certainly the rest of his family quite a bit of nerves. Now there is no one with him to tell him to just stop that and tear it away. Maybe that's a good thing, considering Lucy’s advice.   
In front of him is now an ordinary shoebox, freed from paper and just as mysterious as before. By now curiosity has taken hold of him and he lifts the lid to reveal its secret contents - only to slap it closed again immediately. How-

He swallows hard and manages to lift the lid a second time. This time he leaves it open. Stares. What is inside takes his breath away.

In the cardboard box sits a small, worn donkey made of plush. And the sole sight of it is enough to bring tears to his eyes. Very carefully, as if the old stuffed animal could shatter like the finest glass, he lifts it out of the box and turns it in his shaky fingers. Nothing has changed about it. It’s exactly like he remembers. He gently strokes the small amateurish seam along the animal's hind leg. He can still remember struggling to dry desperate tears while simultaneously digging for a needle and thread. If he remembers correctly, he even put a band aid on after he was done patching the poor thing up.   
The donkey is now more than forty years old. And, by now, it has accompanied two timid owners. The tears are now rolling down his own nose and fall into the donkey's shaggy fur, completely against his will and unheard of.

_“You know, when I was your age I couldn't sleep well either. But my mother often worked very long. Sometimes until late at night. "_

His own long-forgotten words echo in his mind. This time he does not banish them. He lets the precious memory roam free. 

_"So, she made me a companion to keep me company at night."_

_"A… companion?"_

_“Mmhm, a companion. But, you know what? Today I'm the one who is often far too busy at night, hm? And, to tell you a secret, I think my old companion might be a bit scared all alone at night. Perhaps…"_

_"... perhaps ... he could stay with me then?"_

_“That is exactly my idea. I'm pretty sure you two’d make a perfect team."_

_“Can I see him?… That's a little donkey! Oh, he’s so cute! Can I really keep him?"_

  
*

  
Lucy keeps catching herself looking down the hallway. Is the gift she has chosen good and right? Long enough, she has been troubled by asking Denise for this favor. But every time she takes refuge in Flynn's presence with her bottle of vodka, she realizes how sterile his quarters are. Sure, there are books here and there, an ancient stereo system is on the table. A couple of toiletries. Clothes. But nothing ... personal. No photos. No keepsakes. Nothing. And she understands why. After Rittenhouse had taken everything from him, he hardly had the opportunity and perhaps not the strength to go back home. All that remains is his wedding ring. And even that was taken from him in prison. Only then did she realize how little he had left. So, she took courage and asked Denise to pull some strings. At least a memento, no matter how small, of his daughter. That was all she asked for. And she succeeded.

But now she doubts. Maybe it's too much. Maybe he has kept his distance for a good reason.

A glance at the clock confirms that morning is approaching already. And she’s still brooding over it. With a sigh, she admits to herself that she won't find any peace tonight unless she at least asks him if everything is okay.

So, as morning light creeps across the horizon she tiptoes quietly down the hall to the familiar door. Carefully, cautious not to wake the rest of the bunker, she raps her knuckles against rusty steel. But behind it nothing moves. She tries a second time. Again, no reaction. She bites her lower lip morosely. This was a stupid, stupid idea, wasn’t it? 

Taking a steadying breath, she casts all doubts to the wind and cracks the heavy door open. It's dark and quiet inside and a sudden, illogical fear hits her. What if he’s gone? What if- But aside from the fact that there was no blaring alarm, he is not like that, she reminds herself. She knows him well enough by now.

Calming her own racing heart, very carefully, she pushes the door a little further open. Far enough to peek inside the room. And what she sees silences all of her worries on the spot. There, on his bunk, the blanket half on the floor, lies Garcia Flynn, alleged terrorist, fighter, rebel, in a peaceful deep slumber. In his arms: A plush donkey.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! I hope you had fun. :D
> 
> Also please have at look at the absolutely adorable artwork UnUnpredictableMe created to this story! *-*

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Fanart] A Donkey Named Companion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27851786) by [UnUnpredictableMe (DraejonSoul)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraejonSoul/pseuds/UnUnpredictableMe)




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